


Sex For Dummies

by Tav



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: 27 year old Eames, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Annoying Shop Clerk, Condoms And Lube, Deals and Promises, First Time, For he sake of laughing, Like, M/M, Phone Sex, Really annoying Shop Clerk, everyone else in the twelth grade, virgins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7865071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tav/pseuds/Tav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Yusuf agree to lose their virginity to each other before going off to college. Who better to lose it to than your best friend. No strings attached and no complications, just  a safe covenant. </p><p>It should be oh so easy. </p><p>Only...it isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex For Dummies

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by kenopsia's reaction to a comment from RTLS when Eames called Arthur and Yusuf dorky attractive virgins.... THIS was born :-) :-) :-) 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

They’ve been next door neighbors for thirteen years, best friends for twelve.  

 

When they were eleven they figured out that they both liked boys and were the only boys in their class who detested Ben 10.

 

They’ve had joint birthday parties nine times, because they are both born in the eighth month of the year.  

 

In seventh grade they went to their first school dance and between the two of them, they danced with six girls.

 

They’ve won five talent shows impersonating Hall and Oates, but have only been beaten up by bullies for it four times.

 

They’ve only seen each other butt naked three times and have caught the other staring twice.

 

But there has never once been an instant between them as awkward as this single moment right now.

 

“So are we gonna do this?” Arthur asks.

 

“You go first,” Yusuf insists.

 

Even as Arthur takes a tentative step forward, he still has absolutely no idea exactly what his best friend means by _go first_.

 

Arthur puts his right sweaty hand on Yusuf’s bare left shoulder and then the left lands awkwardly on Yusuf’s right. He shifts from foot to foot when he feels Yusuf’s hands land on the awkward part of his sides, high on his ribs and far too close to his armpits. But his usually ticklish self finds nothing funny at all. The moment isn’t supposed to be funny. It isn’t supposed to be romantic either, both because Yusuf is like a brother and this is merely a covenant.  It can’t possibly be sexy, because despite the fact that they are both entirely naked, they are standing at arm’s length like two children enduring their first boy/girl dance. 

 

“Does this feel like an awkward first dance to you?” Yusuf asks, reminding Arthur of how much they really are like brothers. Making the moment even more uncomfortable.

 

“Maybe if we-” Arthur can’t say the words so he steps closer instead, forcing their arms to wrap around each other. And it has progressively become an awkward brotherly hug, chests touching but groins not.

 

“Maybe we should put on some music,” Yusuf suggests, “like Marvin Gaye.”

 

“Are you kidding me,” Arthur scrunches his face, “Marvin Gaye is terrible.”

 

“And I suppose your Michael Bolton _love_ collection is better.”

 

“Yes, it is. It’s ten times better.”

 

“Oh, is that so.”

 

“His voice is a natural aphrodisiac. I mean, have you ever made out to _Sexual Healing_?”

 

“Have you?”

 

“No, but-“

 

“No, you haven’t.”

“I said no,” Arthur frowns. “But it’s a lot less gay than Marvin. Even his name is gay.”

 

“Arthur, look at us,” Yusuf nods down between the two of them, “we’re gay.”

 

“But we’re not narcissistic about it.”

 

“Shut up, Arthur,” Yusuf sighs. “Let’s just…kiss okay?”

 

“Okay,” Arthur nods and takes a deep breath. And then immediately backs away. “Wait, hang on. Don’t just come at me like you’re about to eat a falafel.” 

 

“A falafel?” Yusuf frowns. Thinks for a moment. “Is that some sort of racial crack?”

 

“Have you seen yourself eat a falafel?”

 

“You could have said a Big Mac or a pizza or a slice of Aunt Maggies Sunday pie-”

 

“I’m just saying,” Arthur sighs, “you gotta ease into it.”

 

“Suddenly you’re the expert at kissing.”

 

“I’d like to think I know a thing or two about it.”

 

“And just how many people have you kissed?”

 

“Certainly more than you.”

 

“Aunts don’t count.”

 

Arthur thinks. “One more than you. You know what; let’s just forget the kissing and get right to…”

 

“Agreed.”

 

A new wave of nervous heat piles at the bottom of Arthur’s gut when he’s reminded that this isn’t just one of Yusuf’s and his casual arguments over video games.  This is it. The legendary shift between being a boy and becoming a man all summed up into one act of bodily fluids being exchanged in irregular places. Arthur actually feels queasy. Even more so when he looks down at Yusuf’s cock and his friend is not even….

 

“You’re not even…”

 

“Well neither are you,” Yusuf retorts defensively.

 

“Maybe if we….”

 

“Good idea.”

 

Even though the position is odd and their wrists keep knocking, Arthur can’t deny the familiar sensation of being turned on, only it’s not his own penis growing hard in his palm, it’s Yusuf’s. And that alone makes his own dick stiffen, and bob and come to life in an embarrassingly wet way. Arthur’s hand tightens on Yusuf’s shoulder and his forehead drops onto his knuckles. Eyes fluttering shut as they wordlessly pick up the pace. And as their breathing becomes more aggressive, Arthur feels Yusuf begin to thrust into his palm, encouragement enough for him to do the same. But it causes their cocks to touch and Arthur feels a bolt of heat strike from his cock to his feet only to fly back up to his knees, weakening them with dull warning. Warning that if they keep at this, Arthur will be ending this painfully quickly. 

 

“You should probably put on your condom now.”  Yusuf breathes out, as if in Arthur’s mind. Brothers. 

 

But then Arthur’s brows furrow.

 

“I thought you were wearing the condom.”

 

“This was your idea.”

 

“Yeah but you’re….you know. You’re-”

 

“The guy?” Yusuf actually scoffs. “Please don’t tell me you were just about to say _the guy_.”

 

“Fuck it, Yusuf,” Arthur stops stroking because he never imagined he’d be having an argument with his best friend, dick in hand. “We’re in your room. Just get a condom.”

 

“I don’t own any.”

 

“How can you not?”

 

“Do you?”

 

“No, but I probably would’ve made sure we had some if we planned on fucking in _my_ room.”

 

“We only talked about this last night. Forgive me for not running out to an all-night condom express store.”

 

“Just forget it,” Arthur pulls away entirely, puts space between them, his back to Yusuf.  The space allows cool air to shower over him, the indignity dampens the mood and Arthur is not even slightly shocked to feel himself losing wood.  Arthur sighs and starts to get dressed, “One of us has to go get some.”  .

 

“This was all your idea so…”

 

“We’re not in kindergarten anymore, Yusuf.” Arthur turns back to his friend who is now sporting jeans, perched at the edge of the bed, seemingly just as embarrassed by their fumble as Arthur is. “We’re both in this together, we do things fairly. And how have we always done things fairly?”

 

“We draw straws,” Yusuf concludes and wastes no time going straight for his drawer.

 

Arthur eyes him incredulously. “How is it that you always have straws in your nightstand, but no condoms?” 

 

Yusuf ignores Arthur entirely, shuffling through his pinks, greens and yellows before settling on a lone blue straw. He finds a pair of scissors easily, cuts the straw into three pieces before tossing the extra piece aside. The two that remain in his hands are uneven.

 

“Right, whose turn is it to draw?” Arthur sits beside Yusuf.

 

“Can’t remember,” Yusuf grins, “Let’s draw straws to see whose turn it is to draw-”

 

“I’ll draw,” Arthur cuts him off with an exaggerated eye roll.

 

Yusuf shuffles the straws and holds them up in a loose fist leaving both of them looking of equal height.

 

Arthur draws a straw.

 

Yusuf grins.

 

*****

 

For Arthur, the perks of living in such a small town are as followed:

 

They never run out of milk or sugar and usually end up returning home with fresh cookies as well. Because even though Mrs. Brittle from next door calls her cats her children, felines don’t tend to favor baked goods and she always ends up with more treats than she knows what to do with them.

 

They can go to bed with the front door unlocked, because the neighborhood is its own watch. A comforting sense of security, even before the Chief of Police decided to move into the house two doors down. Even before his mother started dating the Chief’s deputy.  

 

The mailman knows him by name and doesn’t ask questions about the many ‘Men’s Fitness’ magazines he’s subscribed to. In fact, Ralph always makes sure that if the man on the cover is wearing any less than a three piece suit, the magazine is delivered directly in Arthur’s hands and nobody else’s. The delivery even comes with a smile.

 

The shop clerks let him off easy when he’s a few coins short and he gets extra Oreos in his smoothies at the only diner in town. Even the nurses at the clinic treat Arthur like their favorite nephew because Arthur’s mother has been a loyal part of their staff for nearly a decade.

 

For Arthur, the disadvantage of living in such a small town is the fact that, everyone in the neighborhood is always watching. His mother is dating the deputy sheriff. The mailman and shop clerks and attendants know him by name. And every fucking nurse at the clinic treats him like a fucking nephew because his mother has been a loyal part of their staff for nearly a decade.

 

So Arthur finally gives up on the drugstore, the mini mall and clinic, never really having any hope in the dispensary by the guidance counselor’s office at school. Judging by the amount of students reporting _attack by water-filled condoms_ , it’s pretty clear that the contraceptives are not used for their intended purpose, thus resulting in the school’s reluctance to maintain it.

 

That is the only reason why Arthur is here.

 

 _‘LAST MINUTE THINGS’,_ Arthur reads the sign above.

 

He purposely walks past the front door three times after taking two busses to the one shop he knows he has zero chance of being recognized.

 

When Arthur finally enters, the jingle that introduces the shop’s new patron sounds loud enough to announce that the Pope is dead. Although the store is empty and filled only with the sound of a football game in full swing on the tiny outdated television above the clerk’s head, Arthur feels as though he’s on full exhibition. But the clerk remains buried in his magazine. And Arthur expects the lingering look over the brim of said magazine is only unwavering because Arthur is dressed in a black hoodie and large black sunglasses, one bandana around his mouth away from being completely covered.

 

Even though he wants to get out of there as quickly as possible, Arthur finds himself lifting a chocolate bar and then putting it back. Reading the dietary contents on the back of a bag of potato chips. Anything to buy himself time enough to stop his hands from shaking.

 

After a full five minutes of staring at sodas he has no intention of buying, Arthur finally finds himself standing in front of the counter. He clears his dry throat, eyes dropping just as the clerk lowers his magazine from his face and his boots from the counter.

 

“Um,” Arthur clears his throat again and it’s a horrible sound. “May I please have-”

 

The jingle sounds again, no less annoying to Arthur’s suddenly sensitive ears and Arthur curses Murphy’s Law as a large, tattooed man carrying a helmet takes the spot right behind him. Close enough for Arthur to smell the sweat and nicotine. And all Arthur can do is mumble how the big guy can go ahead of him, earning him a hard, suspicious look from the new patron.

 

“The usual, Max?” the clerk asks with an accent that Arthur is too nervous to decipher and the conversation that follows between the other two men as they exchange cigarettes and money is terribly guarded yet familiar. Arthur is just about to take his previous place in front of the counter when the bell sounds again, this time bringing with it the tiniest old lady Arthur has ever seen.

 

“I insist, ma’am,” Arthur offers her his place.

 

“Aren’t you a sweet one,” she touches his arm, smiling brilliantly as she searches through her purse, as small and worn as she is. “You know, it’s very rare to find that sort of manner from young people nowadays. Not at all like back in my day. I remember a time when-”

 

Arthur’s smile shakes as he pretends to listen to her elaborate description of how her first boyfriend laid down his jacket in a puddle of water so that her shoes would remain dry during their Sunday stroll back in God knows when. Arthur can’t give her his full attention because the clerk’s eyes are on him, he can feel it even though he refuses to look up at the other man. And the little lady doesn’t stop speaking, even after she’s made her unnecessarily dragged out purchase of dental floss and a scratch card. Her chatter only disappears with her once the door jingles shut.

 

Arthur waits a beat, staring at the door for a moment longer before trying one last time.

 

“A box of condoms please,” Arthur mumbles.

 

“I beg your pardon?” the British accent becomes clear.

 

Arthur has to take a deep breath before repeating himself.

 

“Condoms,” he tries louder, reaching for his wallet. “Can I get a box of condoms, please?”

 

Then nothing happens, Arthur standing there with an open wallet that shakes more as the silent seconds drag on. And when he finally looks up, it’s just in time to see impossibly plump red lips curve into a full smile. A smile that reaches remarkable eyes with a sinister shade to them. And Arthur visibly notices tension release from broad shoulders, muscle relax under swirls of black ink and a strong chest deflate as if far too much air had been stuck somewhere in there.     

  

“Condoms?” the clerk smirks, brow shooting high.

 

“Yes….please,” Arthur adds the last part softly to soften the harshness of his affirmation.

 

“Are you not a little too young to be purchasing-”

 

“Look,” Arthur snaps a bit too quickly. Because of all the things that have happened this far, this is certainly one he had been expecting. “I’m eighteen, alright. And I have money to pay for it. So may I please just get a box of fucking condoms? “

 

“Very well,” is all that’s said after another short silence. No less amused.  And Arthur feels as though he’s so close and it’s almost over and he can run away and never return, but then the British clerk adds, “What type would you like, sir?”

 

“Type?” Arthur freezes.

 

“Yes, type.” The clerk turns to the display behind him, hand skimming over the different types of boxes. The different colors. The different brand names. To Arthur, condoms have always been just that. Condoms. And now Arthur is sure he has no idea what they ever really were in the first place. “Let’s see, we have latex, non-latex, glow in the dark, textured, flavored,” he looks over his shoulder and smiles at Arthur before adding, “insertable.”

 

“I – uh….”

 

“Then they’re the sizes as well,” the clerk goes on, “what might you be looking for?”

 

“Normal.”

 

“Normal?”

 

“Look,” Arthur shouts unknowingly, “I just need normal condoms for normal _sex_ , okay.”

 

“Relax, darling,” the clerk turns back fully, crossing his arms over his chest and having the audacity to appear as though Arthur is the one being unreasonable for his outburst. “I’m merely attempting to make sure you have the best experience for your first time.” 

 

“It isn’t my first ti-”

 

The bell rings announcing the return of the little old lady.

 

“-cant seem to find my glasses,” she says as if she started the conversation alone outside and they were supposed to have been following all along. Arthur doesn’t bother telling her that they’re on her head before he’s pocketing his wallet and heading for the door.

 

“What about your condoms?” the clerk shouts after him and Arthur’s blood boils at the amusement lacing that stupid sexy voice.

 

“Oh dear, you can never forget your condoms. My little sister has five boys and seven-”

 

Arthur escapes before he can hear anymore of her lecture. Any more of his laughter.

 

At this point, Arthur is convinced he’s prepared to happily die a virgin.

 

*****

 

“He was such a jackass!”

 

“You’re such a prude, Arthur.”

 

“Fuck you,” Arthur grunts into the phone, “you have no idea how brutal that was. You wouldn’t have managed either.”

 

“Fine, then, baby,” Yusuf taunts, “I’ll go and show you how easy it is.”

 

“But you have to go to the same place,” Arthur challenges.

 

“Done,” the cockiness is obvious in his best friend’s tone. “And when I return with them, I get your I Pad.”

 

“And we’ll even listen to Marvin Gaye while we’re using them.”

 

“Deal,” Yusuf says by way of hanging up. Because they haven’t said ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’ to each other in years.

 

As Arthur turns the light off on his nightstand and curls up under his heavy duvet, Arthur realizes this is the first time he’s ever found himself routing against his best friend.

 

“He’s such a jackass,” Yusuf growls by way of greeting, throwing himself onto Arthur’s bed.

 

Arthur bursts out laughing as he bounces on the upset mattress. “I take it you were unsuccessful.”

 

“Are you kidding me,” Yusuf glares at his friend, pink tinting high on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “I ran out of there as soon as he whipped out the measuring tape.”

 

Arthur clutches his sides, rolling once to lay his head on Yusuf’s stomach. Legs thrashing off the edge of the bed as if that will help regulate his laughter. He feels tears prickle the sides of his eyes even as Yusuf pokes his head away painfully with two firm fingers. 

 

“What exactly was he going to measure?”

 

Yusuf pulls the pillow out from under his own head and places it over Arthur’s face. He gives up altogether when it fails to fully muffle the merriment. “Let’s just go somewhere else. Order online even. People do that all the time right?”

 

“No,” Arthur sobers, sitting up. “No, it’s my turn again.  I’m not letting him win.”

 

“Not letting him win?” Yusuf frowns harder, sitting up as well. “Arthur, is this even about you and me anymore.”

 

“Of course it is,” Arthur assures, wrapping an arm around Yusuf’s shoulder. “ Listen, lemme just try one more time. Just for personal-victory’s sake…. and also because if I get them, I want your PSP.

 

“And we’ll even listen to Michael Bolton,” Yusuf finally smiles after a few too many seconds of deep, silent thought.

 

“Well, be prepared to lose it to _Sexual Healing_ ,” Arthur puts his dimples on display as he flicks his head to the laptop on his study table, “because I’ve done my research.”

 

“That’s not fair,” Yusuf whines.

 

“All is fair in sex and virginity loss….and…condoms-”

 

“You’re such a jackass.”

 

Arthur and Yusuf both burst out laughing.

 

*****

 

“Durex Sensi-Crème,” Arthur places his money down on the counter with a self-satisfied smirk, “classic.”

 

“Someone’s done their research,” the clerk raises a brow, looking every bit as if he’s about to applaud.

 

“I didn’t do any research,” Arthur shrugs, running a hand through his hair coolly and looking around the empty store noncommittally.  “It’s just my usual.”

 

“For your _normal_ sex?”

 

“Yes, “Arthur refuses to lose his cool, regardless of how the clerk’s acclamation is starting to sound more like mockery. “My… normal sex.”

 

“Because, I’d feel very irresponsible if I didn’t inform you that if you’re going to be having any sort of ‘abnormal’ sex,” the clerk does air quotes after finding Arthur’s purchase far too easily, “you might want to invest in getting a good water-based lubricant with this.”

 

“Lube-”.

 

“What kind of sex are you going to be having?”

 

“Normal,” Arthur snaps defensively. Hating how quickly the tables have turned. How his throat is dry again and the clerk’s smile is broad.

 

“Well to be honest with you that doesn’t really tell me a lot,” he crosses one arm over his chest, his other hand going to his chin like a professor about to wing a crucial lecture. “All sex is ‘normal’ depending on the couples’ partialities, be it oral or vaginal or anal. But it’s the intended positions that really determine what the two of you require to …enhance the experience. So what is it then? Do you keep it simple, good old missionary and doggy? Or are you as saucy as I think you are, hmm? A little V for Vixen? Backstairs Boogaloo? You strike me more of an Arc de Triomph sort of boy, perhaps some Pinwheel action before settling for Head over –”

 

“Anal,” Arthur blurts out. It isn’t so much the images that the alien terms conjure up in his messed up mind that annoys Arthur, it’s the way each syllable tumbles out of the clerk’s pornographic mouth.

 

“Look,” he sighs, “I know I’ve been accused of being particular from time to time, but there’s no need to call me anal.”

 

“Anal sex, okay,” Arthur tries to hide his blush by ducking his head and he is certainly back to square one. He wishes he hadn’t abandoned his hoodie during his earlier rush of false bravado. “Just normal front to back, anal…bed…on all fours sex.”

 

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

 

“Listen, can I just get lube as well and be on my way?”

 

“Relax darling,” the clerk offers a reassuring nod before looking over Arthur’s shoulder. When he speaks again, his voice booms loudly enough to echo in the store. “Lloyd, could you please get me a 500ml bottle of Swiss Navy Silicone Lubricant from the back. Lloyd?”

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Arthur ducks his head as if that will hide his shame one ounce.

 

“Relax,” the clerk is laughing, “there’s no one else here. Just teasing you, love.”

 

“Can I speak to your manager?” Arthur finally demands when his ears stop ringing and his heart slows down to something he feels normal for how enraged he still is.

 

 “Speaking,” the clerk sneers with not a smidgen of remorse for how he’s just nearly given Arthur a mild panic attack.

 

“No,” Arthur shakes his head, “The owner.”

 

“Well you can speak to him if you like but I’d be rather concerned if I was you and he spoke back,” the clerk lifts a section of the counter near the wall and slips out from behind it. “My father’s been buried for two years now.”

 

“Im sorry…I just…” Arthur manages to stutter when the clerk returns behind the counter, wagging a transparent bottle in his hand, long fingers curled distractingly around the plastic tube. “I’m sorry. I just want to-”

 

“It’s alright,” the clerk shrugs long shoulders with his back to Arthur, fussing with his purchase. “I’ve been giving you a rather hard time. You _and_ your partner really. And for that I do apologize.”

 

“My partner?” Arthur inquires.  

 

“The cute, curly fella,” the clerk smiles back easily.

 

“Wait,” Arthur shakes his head as if to clear it. “You knew that him and I were…”

 

“It was rather easy to tell,” the tattooed man finally packs Arthur’s items in a brown paper bag.  “Besides, I only have a handful of regulars. The only thing keeping this place running is a few nicotine addicts and lottery chancers…and prayer.”

 

“Well maybe if you’d stop being such a massive prick you’d have more customers,” Arthur states unforgivingly, taking his parcel and waiting a few seconds longer only for his change.

 

“Perhaps,” the clerk tilts his head with equally unforgiving thought to the advice. “You take care, Arthur.”

 

Arthur is making his exit with immense relief that the moment is over and no intentions of thanking the man for his assistance. But something makes him freeze.

 

“How’d you know my-”

 

A group of high school girls enter the store with the now familiar loud jingle and even louder banter laced in giggles.

 

“I’ll talk to you soon,” is the last thing Arthur hears the clerk say before he makes his escape.

 

*****

 

Arthur checks the contents of the brown paper bag for the fifth time since hiding it under his bed.

 

He opens the box at the bottom this time just to be sure before shaking out its contents.

 

After another five minutes of staring at the chicken scratch scribbled on the back of his cash slip, Arthur relents with a groan and picks up the phone, dialing the number with false determination.

 

“Last Minute Stuff, how can I help you?”

 

“How did you know my name is Arthur?”

 

“Oh hello Arthur,” the world’s worst clerk hums fondly, “what a pleasant surprise.”

 

“How did you know?” Arthur chooses to ignore him.

 

“Well its written rather juvenilely in sharpie on your equally infantile Spiderman wallet,” the smile is present in his tone. “In fact, apart from your baby face that’s what made me certain you were twelve years old.”

 

“Well, I’m not,” Arthur rolls his eyes. “I don’t expect you to understand anything about sentimental gifts, but that was actually given to me when I was a kid by my bes-boyfriend. He spent all year saving up for it and I’ve kept it ever since.”

 

“You and Curly must really love each other, how sweet,” Eames’ voice is dripping with false adoration. “In fact, I think I may have just developed a telephonically induced cavity.”

 

“Go to hell.” Arthur says, hating this man even more by the second. “That’s not why I called. The box _says See inside for Instructions_ and all I got is your phonenumber. Where the hell are my instructions?”

 

“I’m right here, darling.”

 

“I can’t believe you-,” Arthur sighs, exasperated but not completely unbelieving. Not entirely surprised that this crazy man could do something as vindictive as to commandeer something so vital for his own personal amusement.  “Know what, it doesn’t even matter. There’s this thing called the interne-”.

 

“The internet is a lot less helpful than I will be if you just let me,” the clerk purrs. “Also I can assure you, I’m a lot more fun.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Arthur’s thumb is already on the button that will put an early end to the clerk’s preposterous idea.

 

“Trust me on this one,” he says quickly before Arthur can do what he knows he should, “I’ll walk you through it, step by step. Zero judgment. With a few tips. And amusing witticisms to calm you down in case you get nervous.”  

 

And Arthur is suddenly plagued with a million possibilities that allowing this to happen will bring with it. He’s confused by how easy it all suddenly seems, how simple it is to talk to a man who usually sets his heart racing simply because he’s two busses away. And they can’t meet each other’s eyes. And Arthur can simply hang up whenever he wants to. Not to mention, this man’s voice is so enjoyable that Arthur finds himself not wanting to end their conversation. 

 

“Not a single joke!” Arthur surrenders against his better judgment.

 

“Not a single joke, then.” Eames concurs with bottled enjoyment in his tone.

 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Arthur groans squinting up at the ceiling, “What _am_ I doing?”

 

“Well you tell me, love,” Arthur hears the unmistakable sound of a chair squeak back and can picture the other man getting comfortable, “What _are_ you doing right now? Where are you?”

 

“I’m um….in my room,” Arthur looks around before adding, “…on my bed.”

 

“Lying down, yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And what are we wearing?”

 

Arthur stares down at himself as if to make sure nothing has miraculously changed since the last time he checked. “Boxer briefs.”

 

“What color?”

 

“Is that really necessary?”

 

“It’s helpful Arthur,” there’s definitely a smile present, “work with me.”

 

“Fine,” Arthur sighs. “Black.”

 

“Mmmmh,” it’s a ridiculously dirty sound of appreciation at the back of his throat that has Arthur’s skin prickling.

 

“I will hang u-”

 

“Take them off,” his voice is lower. Accent thicker.

 

“Really?” Arthur hates the way his own voice sounds almost girly.

 

“Well you can’t exactly shag anything with them on.”

 

“I know, it’s just th-”

 

“Do as you’re told,” it’s nearly growled and Arthur’s ear is left feeling even hotter than before.  

 

Arthur places his phone aside, hands trembling as he raises his hips off the bed and yanks his briefs down his painfully pale legs. “They’re off.”

 

“Right, get a condom out then, and tear it open,” then a smile returns to his voice, “Not with your teeth love, this isn’t a porno.”

 

“Am I supposed to be…. um….” Arthur hates how he still can’t find the nerve to word everything on his mind. No doubt on both of their minds.

 

“You wound me, Arthur, you’re not erect? I’m as hard as a cricket bat here.”

 

“I’m just –” Arthur refrains from telling a perfect stranger who already thinks him a child that he is a little scarred. Anxious. Tense. “I’m halfway there. Lemme just –”

 

“Don’t touch it,” it’s another abrupt command that has Arthur snapping his hand away from his cock as if it isn’t his own and he has no rights where it is concerned. “No need to touch it when I’m crawling between your legs, parting them, kissing your inner thighs. Slowly, thoroughly. Burring my face in your crotch, letting my tongue dart out to trace the delicate line between your balls before sucking them into my wet, warm –”

 

“Okay,” Arthur snaps a little too loudly and far too panicky, “okay I’m there.”

 

“Pity,” the older man chuckles, “Would’ve rather enjoyed that. _Now_ , open the packet and pull it out. See the little bulb bit of the condom? That should be breathing between your fingertips.”

 

“Yeah,” Arthur says, voice small. Nostrils filling with a medicinal sort of smell as he lets his fingertips get damp against the rubber.   

 

“Place that on the tip of your cock and gently, slowly roll it down,” the man instructs, indulgently as if he’s picturing the entire thing. “All the way down to the base. Smooth it proper, okay?”

 

Arthur follows every direction carefully as if rushing his actions will wreck it. Will cause him to fumble. Will disappoint this stranger who, at this moment, he is willing to do just about anything to impress.  “Its done.”

 

“Brilliant,” Arthur holds his breath because he isn’t quite sure he heard what he thinks he just heard correctly. It’s just passed 11pm and the house is silent. It’s just passed 11pm and Arthur suspects the clerk isn’t expecting too many customers, even ones looking for ‘last minute things. But Arthur still thinks his sexual imagination is running away with himself if he really heard the sound of the other man’s zipper opening. “Got your lube with you?”

 

“Yeah,” Arthur is suddenly unsure of what their doing, of what he’s suggesting they should keep doing. “But I just needed help with the-”

 

“Now, darling,” he interrupts, “I promised to show you how it’s done. So I am going to show you exactly how it’s done. Beginning to end. I am rather…anal, remember?”

 

Arthur has always been one to evaluate every situation. Come at them all to make sure all his tactics and decisions land him on top. For the life of him, this aroused and wanting, Arthur can’t find it in himself to think straight. So instead he hears himself say, “Okay.”

 

“Dribble some lube onto your cock,” the voice in his ears continues as if he knew Arthur was too lost in it anyway. “Smear it all over your erection with one hand only.”

 

Arthur breathes heavily as he complies, squeezing his eyes shut to picture himself anywhere but there. Anywhere but pathetically in his room speaking to the sexiest man he’s ever laid his eyes on.  And he starts picturing that he’s right in that tiny shop with that man’s eyes directly on him.

 

“I want you to make a tight fist with your hand that’s already lubed up. Not too tight now. But the catch is you know the way you usually take a wank?

 

“Yeah,” Arthur stops shakily, three strokes into it.

 

“Forget that,” he says smoothly, “turn your fist around. I want the head of your cock pushing against your thumb. Pushing into the hole your fingers have created. Pushing against that resistance.”

 

“Fuck,” Arthur whimpers, complying to every word. Hanging onto every breath.

 

“In a moment” he teases and Arthur is too far gone to feel teased, “he must open up for you first. Feel him slowly open up for you, then close back around you, then relax, allowing you in deeper. Tight and warm. Constricting yet welcoming. He wants you inside him so badly Arthur, but it hurts. And it’s a completely new type of pain for him. He’s conflicted with himself. The most part of him wants you to stop. He’s wondering whether or not he’s been delusional all this time, he’s thinking this just isn’t for him. Wondering how other men can crave this. Feeling new bursts of pain the further you go. That’s when you pull out Arthur…not all the way, not fast, just glide back till it’s only your head left inside. And he’s offered relief that he suddenly feels as though he doesn’t need. He feels he could have taken more. He wants more Arthur. He’s practically whimpering for more. Give him more, darling.”

 

“Holy fuck,” Arthur exclaims, the only coherent thing he can think of as he tries to get about his wits.

 

“That’s it Arthur” he encourages, voice getting ragged. “Deeper each time. Faster each time. Harder each time. Fuck him Arthur.”

 

“I can’t be- believe I’m – I don’t even know your name.”

 

“Eames, pet,” he offers, “my name is Eames. Say it.”

 

“Eames”, Arthur orgasms as the name forces its way passed his lips. And never before has it felt so intense and real, so tight and hot leaving him in an unfathomable wreck that still wants more all while finding the sort of satisfaction that every inch of him has ever desired. And never even knew he wanted.  

 

“There’s a good boy,” Arthur hears through a serious of dizzying buzzing. “You’re alright. Stay inside him. Let him feel you soften right there.”

 

“Eames…” Arthur isn’t quite sure what he wants to say.

 

“Check if he’s alright, Arthur.”

 

Arthur closes his eyes for a minute and then in his scattered mind, Arthur asks _him_ if he if he’s alright. And Eames replies; “Indeed I am, Darling.” In that low sexy rumble. Arthur hadn’t been picturing Yusuf at all. Not even once. He’d been picturing doing that to Eames. He had pictured Eames doing it to him.

 

“Are you alright, Arthur?” Eames asks. And it’s in his ear this time not in his head. It’s real and reassuring and frightening.

 

Arthur hastily hangs up the phone.

 

*****

The week that follows is very busy, that’s why there’s still only one condom missing from the box Arthur so bravely purchased.

 

It’s so busy that Arthur forgets to claim his PSP and Yusuf forgets his former plans to ‘accidently’ delete all of Arthur’s Michael Bolton playlists.

 

When Arthur isn’t at a chess tournament, Yusuf is at a Science expo. When Yusuf isn’t attending an eisteddfod, Arthur has a big piano recital.

 

It goes on and on like this until Arthur’s nerves and patience run thin and he finds himself climbing through Yusuf’s window on a Saturday afternoon after making certain that Yusuf’s family had finally left for their relatives wedding. And when the door swings open and Yusuf walks in, all of Arthur’s suspicions are answered.

 

 No, Yusuf had not had any intentions of going to the wedding. Yusuf hated weddings.

 

No, Yusuf hadn’t been as busy as he’d claimed he was all week. In all their thirteen years, his best friend has never been too busy for him.

 

And yes, Arthur is certain that Yusuf has been avoiding him just as much as he has been avoiding Yusuf, but for two very different reasons.

 

Arthur isn’t leaving until he knows exactly what Yusuf’s reason is.

 

“I slept with Robert.” Yusuf blurts out as his eyes go wide the second he sees his uninvited friend sitting on his bed. Arthur hasn’t even opened his mouth yet.

 

“Robert?” Arthur finally says slowly, lowly. “Robert Fischer, Robert? The guy you met online, Robert?”

 

“Yeah,” Yusuf scratches the back of his head. “Turns out he’s real, not some serial killer. And he’s great, and handsome and wonderful. And, Arthur, I wanted to tell you I was in love with him but you kept making all those stranger danger jokes. I wanted to tell you that the reason I agreed to your ridiculous idea of not going to college a virgin was really because I wanted nothing more than to be with him, and I was so afraid of fucking up. But he visited last week and it _just_ happened and it was incredible.”

 

When Arthur simply stares at Yusuf, Yusuf’s goofy smile falls away.

 

“Look,” Yusuf crosses the room to kneel down in front of his friend, “I know we promised that we will be each other’s first, but I don’t think it’s what we ever really wanted. If that were the case, it would have happened. You’re my best friend, we’re practically brothers and we’ve been through everything together. I want to share so many more firsts with you, Arthur, just not this one. You mean too much to me to lose what we have due to regrets. And I regret keeping this from you, but I don’t regret how it happened. How my first time happened. And I don’t want you to regret yours either. Fuck losing your virginity before college, there is no expiry date. As a friend I suggest you wait until you find your _Robert_. I’m sorry Arthur.”

 

“I’m happy for you,” Arthur lies against his friend’s shoulder when Yusuf leans up for a hug.

 

“No you’re not,” Yusuf calls out easily.

 

“No I’m not,” Arthur affirms and the two share a light laugh. “But I will be.”

 

*****

 

“I want you to have sex with me.”

 

“Pleasantries have certainly changed around here since I was a child,” Eames smiles that frustratingly handsome smile. “Or perhaps my mum just taught me wrong.”

 

“Hi, have sex with me,” Arthur rolls his eyes and Eames bursts out laughing. It’s loud and gruff and almost wipes Arthur’s frown away. But Arthur is distressingly desperate and quite annoyed, more so when the bell sounds and a painfully thin and tall bearded man walks in. Arthur steps aside to let the man be served; tapping his foot impatiently when Eames greets him by name and they proceed to talk about ‘last night’s game’.

 

“I take it there’s trouble in paradise,” Eames fakes concern when the two of them are alone once again.

 

“Look, Arthur leans on the counter, “The truth is, Yusuf and-”

 

“Who’s Yusuf?”

 

“ _Curly_ and I –” Arthur rolls his eyes again and ignores Eames’ chuckle, “-are not really ‘partners’. The honest truth is we’re just best friends, best friends who made a deal that we wouldn’t go to college still virgins. And that we’d lose it together.”

 

“And can _I_ tell _you_ an ‘honest truth’?” Eames also leans on the counter bringing the two of them far too close together and Arthur has to force himself not to move away. Because Eames’ broad frame makes Arthur feel microscopic and he smells so good that Arthur is actually contemplating giving up breathing indefinitely. “I already knew that.”

 

“What?” is all that Arthur manages.

 

“Well, not about the imprudent agreement,” Eames shrugs, “I knew you two weren’t an item. You don’t think I’d have honestly trapped you into that utterly delicious, naughty bout of phone shagdom if I thought you were attached. Despite what society thinks of bad lads such as myself, I’m not one to come between anything even remotely close to a romantic relationship.”

 

“How could you tell?” Arthur asks, genuinely curious.

 

“I’m bloody good at reading people,” Eames praises himself with such ease that it’s entirely forgivable.

 

“And what do you come up with when you read me?” Arthur makes the mistake of looking at Eames’ lips when he says this. The way they curve up on one end makes Arthur know that Eames doesn’t mind the slip at all.

 

“I know the only reason you’re propositioning me is because your ‘partner’ probably lost his with someone else and you hate the fact that you’re now the ‘last man standing’,” Eames makes air quotes again and Arthur is sure that he’d have punched him by now if Eames wasn’t so pretty….and large. Eames is very large. “Tell me Arthur, why is it so important for you to lose your virginity so soon. How will that make you a better person?”

 

“No, don’t,” Arthur scrunches his face and straightens up. At full height, Eames is forced to look up at him past thick lashes and Arthur immediately regrets his move, “don’t try to give me some after school special. I just- I have my own reasons.”

 

“You hate finishing last.”

 

“Don’t act like you know me.”

 

“You’re entirely too competitive.”

 

“You’re just repeating yourself now.”

 

“Then what is it, Arthur?”

 

“It’s because-” Arthur feels his chest tighten, hating admitting it to himself let alone another person. “I’m scared okay. I’ve been closeted for so long and I want out. I want to be free in college and what happens if I suck at it. What happens when I meet him, a guy I …fall in love with and everything is perfect until we end up in the bedroom. And I have no idea what I’m doing. And I fuck everything up.”  

 

“And you think I’m the solution to your cherry popping predicament because even if you are terrible, their absolutely no feelings involved.”

 

“I know it sounds bad but-”

 

“And you know I will handle every inch of your body with paramount, uncontrolled passion,” Eames reaches one strong arm up, fingers gripping the front of Arthur’s shirt at the chest. The tug is brief and teasing but Arthur nearly loses his footing either way, stomach pressed firmly against the counter. “And dear Lord, would I enjoy every second of it.”

 

“So,” Arthur tries to look for words, ears hot and ringing. Brain unable to think about much else than the fact that Eames wants to sleep with him possibly even more than he wants Eames to. “So, does that mean you’re…we’re gonna do it?”

 

“Fuck no,” Eames scoffs.

 

“And just why the fuck not?”

 

“Because, Arthur,” Eames frowns and it’s the first time Arthur has seen the man look so serious, “I don’t fuck minors.”

 

“For God’s sake,” Arthur throws his hands in the air, “I’m not a goddamn child.”

 

Eames purses his lips as he straightens, crossing his arms over his chest. A stance he seems to favor and wears far too well.

 

“Two weeks,” Arthur exhales. “What difference does two weeks make?”

 

“You’re eighteen then?” Eames voice is low and questioning.

 

“Yeah, but I’ll still be exactly the same as I am now. It’s a few days away, Eames. It’s not even a solid two weeks, its thirteen days.”

 

“Well then that leaves just thirteen days for us to get to know each other then,” Eames nods, ghost of a smile returning, “for you to get to know me.”

 

“Seriously. After that we really will…?”

 

“I promise, Arthur,” Eames affirms, “after I’m done with you and you find yourself face to face with the man you truly love, you will have not a single doubt in your mind that you know _exactly_ what you’re doing.”

 

*****

 

On day number one, Arthur spends two hours speaking to Eames over the phone. And even though the conversation begins with Arthur conveying his anxiety, it mutates into something calm and ends in laughter.

 

On day three, Arthur finds out four new things about Eames. Not only does Eames run his late father’s shop, but he also goes to culinary school in the mornings with the dream of opening his own little bistro. Eames absolutely hates cheese but ironically adores pizza. He has a kitten named Kitten, reason being because she is a kitten. And he loves all music but favors anything with a beat that he can rap along to.

 

On day number five, they share their sixth kiss. It’s always a soft and polite peck, brief touch of their lips accompanied by a _hello_ or _see you later_ when Eames makes time to take Arthur to or pick him up from school. Arthur always hopes it will last longer, but Eames straightens and revs the engine, an uncharacteristically principled look fixed on his face.

 

On day seven, Arthur hits a total of eight balls at the batting cages. It’s a small victory in comparison to how skilled Eames is with the bat but Arthur chooses to take it triumphantly. Because he wouldn’t have hit a single one had Eames not joined him in the cage and enveloped his bulk around Arthur. Incased Arthur in the skillful, coaching embrace. Chest over back, chin over shoulder. Hands over hands and groin against butt. Even though Arthur knows Eames had been doing all the swinging, Arthur still took great pride every time Eames would whisper ‘you’re doing great’ or ‘just like that’ or ‘it’s all you, Arthur’. Because Arthur wasn’t so sure that Eames was talking about baseball half the time.

 

On the ninth day, Arthur realizes that Eames possesses ten times more self-control than he does. Because, Eames, letting the platonic goodnight kiss linger on for more than its usual second results in Arthur straddling Eames’ lap. Desperate, rock hard, aching and grinding down for more. And Eames’ words are a mix between ‘no, we mustn’t do this’ and ‘oh God, yes’. But even though they are both panting into each other’s mouths, bodies at awkward yet satisfying positions in the confines of the vehicle and hands stealing touches under annoying clothing, Eames is the one who grabs Arthur’s waist and tosses him back into the passenger seat. A little carelessly but necessarily, Arthur realizes, when the world comes back and he realizes they are still in his parents’ driveway and the lights in the house are still on.

 

On day number eleven, Arthur realizes that there are only twelve hours left until day thirteen.  

 

“Arthur,” Yusuf shouts, “Do I have to remind you it’s both of our parties. Are you gonna help or not?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur starts blowing up the deflated balloon that’s been hanging loosely between his fingers. A quick look around shows that it’s his third to Yusuf’s twelfth. Mal is draping up pretty things around the bowling alley and Cobb is pretending not to look under her skirt as he holds the ladder still. Ariadne is helping Nash with sound checks, sounding as though she’s having a little too much fun in front of turn tables for the first time. And though it’s cheesy having a party at the bowling alley at their age, Arthur’s friends are all cheesy too. So it’s fun and sort of lovely and Arthur finds himself smiling stupidly again. And though it has little to do with the party they have to have all set up in less than an hour, Arthur doesn’t let on. Instead, Arthur just smiles back at his best friend who has completely misread his own.

 

And Arthur is so happy that Yusuf is still nothing but that, his best friend. Not his first time.

 

Which is why as Arthur lays beneath Eames, entirely clothed but ready to strip bare, to help Eames do the same. Bodies frantic and tangled, but ready to calm down long enough to be sensible about what they are about to do. As Arthur lies there, excited, comfortable, safe and ready, something dawns on him that he can’t even begin to fathom how he was able to overlook.    

 

“Eames,” Arthur breathes out, shivering when Eames hums against his neck, “Eames, it was my birthday nine days ago.”

 

“I know, love,” Eames nibbles Arthur’s throat, licks the sensitive part behind his ear. “I was there, remember?”

 

“No, I mean-” Arthur exhales because there’s no room for rational thinking when Eames is touching him like this. He takes Eames face in his hands, forcing Eames to look up into his eyes. Allowing Eames to kiss his palm once before settling back and behaving, even though his pupils are blown and lips are red and breathing is wild. “Our deal…we were supposed to do this ages ago.”

 

“I know what the deal was,” Eames shrugs.

 

“Why didn’t you-”

 

“Because your deal came before my promise to you,” Eames smiles, kissing Arthur’s forehead that has undoubtedly sprouted frown lines, “and do you remember what that promise was?”

 

Arthur thinks for a while, smile only spreading across his face in a way that has Eames kissing the two places he’s sure his dimples have come to life. Then Eames straightens and looks into Arthur’s eyes as Arthur nods.

 

“Do you have any doubts about what we’re about to do, Arthur?”

 

Arthur shakes his head.

 

“You know exactly what you want from me and what you’re ready to offer?”

 

Arthur nods again, smile no less.

 

“And lastly, but most importantly,” Eames places the softest kiss on Arthur’s lips, “are you face to face with the man you truly love?”

 

Arthur welcomes that scary sort of thump that bangs against his chest, because it’s been happening so often of late and Arthur has stopped trying to define it. It feels just like Eames, hard and beautiful, scary and real. Filled with possibilities and a dangerous sort of safety. It feels just like Eames because that’s exactly where Eames is.

 

“Yes,” Arthur affirms, marveling at the way Eames’ eyes sparkle.

 

“Then I have kept my promise,” Eames says, self-satisfied. A touch of relief laced with reciprocating emotion.

 

And when Eames leans in once again, Arthur knows he is ready. There’s nothing left to study, or contemplate. To examine or question.

 

Except for one question.

 

“Do you have the condoms?”

 

“I thought you had them,” Arthur says.

 

“Right,” Eames pushes himself up without a second thought, “I’ll get the car keys.”   

 

“Or,” Arthur pulls Eames back, “We could always wait. I mean, what’s the rush?”

 

Arthur laughs at the look that crosses Eames’ face, struggles against the arms that come around him and doesn’t give up even as he’s been hauled out of the bedroom over Eames’ shoulder.

 

Arthur knows he would have gladly waited his entire life for this.  


End file.
